“ Can dawn from thy coming to chase the dark sorrow
Which death, in thine absence, alone can subdue.
[Pg 58] WHEN THE GLEN ALL IS STILL. Air—"Cold Frosty Morning."
When the glen all is still, save the stream of the fountain,
When the shepherd has ceased o'er the dark heath to roam,
And the wail of the plover awakes on the mountain,
Inviting her mate to return to his home—
Oh! meet me, Eliza, adown by the wild-wood,
Where the wild daisies sleep 'mong the low-lying dew,
And our bliss shall be sweet as the visions of childhood,
And pure as the fair star, in heaven's deep blue. ”

“ And Love will a diviner air
Impart to Beauty.
TO THE EVENING STAR.
Star of descending Night!
Lovely and fair,
Robed in thy mellow light,
Subtle and rare;
Whence are thy silvery beams,
That o'er lone ocean gleams,
And in our crystal streams
Dip their bright hair?
Far in yon liquid sky,
Where streamers play
And the red lightnings fly,
Hold'st thou thy way;
Clouds may envelop thee,
Winds rave o'er land and sea,
O'er them thy march is free
As thine own ray.
OH! WAFT ME TO THE FAIRY CLIME.
Oh! ”

“ Watering with its dearest dew
The heathy locks of Scotia.
[Pg 51] Down each green-wood skirted vale,
Guardian spirits, lingering, hail
Many a minstrel's melting tale,
As told of ancient Scotia.
When the shades of eve invest
Nature's dew-bespangled breast,
How supremely man is blest
In the glens of Scotia!
There no dark alarms convey
Aught to chase life's charms away;
There they live, and live for aye,
Round the homes of Scotia.
Wake, my hill harp! wildly wake!
Sound by lee and lonely lake,
Never shall this heart forsake
The bonnie wilds of Scotia. ”

“ And the slogan of battle from beauty's fond arms
Roused the war-crested chieftain, his country to save;
The sunbeam that rose on our mountain-clad warriors,
And reflected their shields in the green rippling wave,
In its course saw the slain on the fields of their fathers,
And shed its last ray on their cold bloody graves.
O'er those green beds of honour our war-song prepare,
And the red sword of vengeance triumphantly wave,
While the ghosts of the slain cry aloud—Do not spare,
Lead to victory and freedom, or die with the brave ”

“ Life's like the dew on the hill of the roe.
"Son of the peaceful vale, keep from the battle plain,
Sad is the song that the bugle-horns sing;
Though lovely the standard it waves o'er the mangled slain,
Widows' sighs stretching its broad gilded wing.
Hard are the laws that bind
Poor foolish man and blind;
But free thou may'st walk as the breezes that blow,
Thy cheeks with health's roses spread,
Till time clothes with snow thy head,
Fairer than dew on the hill of the roe.
"Wouldst thou have peace in thy mind when thou'rt hoary,
Shun vice's paths in the days of thy bloom ”

“ The sky and stream reflect the gleam
Of broadswords glancing rarely,
To guard till death the hills of heath
Against the foes o' Charlie.
Then let on high the banners fly,
And hearts and hands rise prouder,
And wake amain the warlike strain
Still louder, and still louder;
[Pg 53] For we ha'e sworn, ere dawn the morn
O'er Appin's mountains early,
Auld Scotland's crown shall nod aboon
The yellow locks o' Charlie.
While banners wave aboon the brave
Our foemen vainly gather,
And swear to claim, by deeds o' fame,
Our hills and glens o' heather. ”

“ Thus, the christening of the wean, with all its ceremony and all its mirth—Hallowe'en, with its "rude awe and laughter"—the "Rockin'"—the "Brooze"—the Bridal—and a hundred other intensely Scottish and very old customs, were all ripe and ready for the poet, and many of them he has treated, accordingly, with consummate felicity and genius. It seems almost as if the final cause of their long-continued existence were connected with the appearance, in due time, of one who was to extract their finest essence, and to embalm them for ever in his own form of ideal representation. ”

“ So calm its pain thy bosom bore,
I thought not death was at its core!
The silver moon is shining now
Upon thy lonely bed,
Pale as thine own unblemish'd brow,
Cold as thy virgin head;
She seems to breathe of many a day
Now shrouded with thee in the clay,
Of visions that have fled,
When we beneath her holy flame,
Dream'd over hopes that never came!
Hark! 'tis the solemn midnight bell,
It mars the hallow'd scene;
And must we bid again—farewell!
Must life still intervene?
Its charms are vain! my heart is laid
E'en with thine own, celestial maid! ”

“ When har'st blithe days begin,
And shearers ply, in the yellow ripe field,
The foremost rig to win;
When the shepherd brings his ewes to the fauld,
Where light-hair'd lasses be,
And mony a tale o' love is tauld,
My thoughts shall be o' thee.
I 'll think o' thee, my Mary Steel,
When the winter winds rave high,
And the tempest wild is pourin' doun
Frae the dark and troubled sky:
[Pg 269] When a hopeless wail is heard on land,
And shrieks frae the roaring sea,
And the wreck o' nature seems at hand,
My thoughts shall be o' thee! ”

“ Any one who ever met the late Professor in the midst of his own happy family, constituted as it was when I had this pleasure, was not likely soon to forget a scene wherein so much genius, kindness, loveliness, and worth were blended. If the world does not think with a deep and undying regret of what once adorned it, and it has now lost, through the intervention of those shadows which no morning but the eternal one can remove, I am one, at least, who in this respect cannot follow its example. ”

“ More lovely than rays from yon heavens above;
It heightens each joy, as it soothes every smart,
Enchanting our souls with the magic of love.
Oh! tell me what drop is most melting and meek
That aught 'neath the azure of heaven can share?
'Tis the tear-drop that falls o'er the dear maiden's cheek
When she breathes o'er her lover her sigh and her prayer!
More tender is this—more celestial and fair—
Than the dew-drop that springs from the chamber of morn;
A balm that still softens the ranklings of care,
And heals every wound that the bosom hath borne. ”

“ HARVEST SONG. [34]
The harvest morning breaks
Breathing balm, and the lawn
Through the mist in rosy streaks
Gilds the dawn,
While fairy troops descend,
With the rolling clouds that bend
O'er the forest as they wend
Fast away, when the day
Chases cloudy wreaths away
From the land.
The harvest breezes swell,
And the song pours along,
From the reapers in the dell,
Joyous throng!
The tiny gleaners come,
Picking up their harvest home,
As they o'er the stubble roam,
Dancing here, sporting there,
All the balmy sunny air
Is full of song. ”

“ Some features which the congregated condition of mankind exhibited penetrated my heart with something like actual dismay. I had seen nothing of the sort, nor yet even so much as a semblance of it, and therefore I had no idea that there existed such a miserable shred of degradation, for example, as a cinder-woman—desolate and dirty as her employment—bowed down—a shadow among shadows—busily prone, beneath the sheety night sky, to find out and fasten upon the crumb, whose pilgrimage certainly had not improved it since falling from the rich man's table. ”

“ And, 'mid the Highlands rude, I see the frequent furrows swell,
With the barley and the corn that Scotland loves so well.
* * * * *
And now I close my clannish lay with blessings on the shade
That bids the mavis sing her song, well nurtured, undismay'd;
The shade where bloom and cresses, and the ear-honey'd heather,
Are smiling fair, and dwelling in their brotherhood together;
For the sun is setting largely, and blinks my eye its ken;
'T is time to loose the strings, I ween, and close my wild-wood strain. ”

“ Probably Burns felt little admiration of the calm, colossal grandeur of mountain-scenery, where there are indeed vestiges of convulsion and agony, but where age has softened the storm into stillness, and where the memory of former strife and upheaving only serves to deepen the feeling of repose—vestiges which, like the wrinkles on the stern brow of the Corsair,
"Speak of passion, but of passion past." ”

“ That the progress of civilisation, apart from Burns, would have ultimately directed the attention of cultivated men to a country so peculiar and poetical as Scotland cannot be doubted; but the rise of Burns hastened the result, as being itself a main element in propelling civilisation and diffusing genuine taste. His dazzling success, too, excited emulation in the breasts of our men of genius, as well as tended to exalt in their eyes a country which had produced such a stalwart and gifted son. ”

“ It may, perhaps, be worth while to state that at these meetings the sons of farmers, and even of lairds, did not disdain to make their appearance, and mingle delightedly with the lads that wore the crook and plaid. Where pride does not come to chill nor foppery to deform homely and open-hearted kindness, yet where native modesty and self-respect induce propriety of conduct, society possesses its own attractions, and can subsist on its own resources. ”

“ Considering the dark uncertainty of my future prospects in life, that regard I felt it fearful almost beyond measure even to seek to retain, incurring the responsibility of marring the fortune of one whom nevertheless I could not bear the thought of another than myself having the bliss of rendering blessed. If selfishness be thus seen to exist even in love itself, I would fain hope that it is of an elevated and peculiar kind, and not that which grovels, dragging downwards, and therefore justly deserving of the name. ”

“ The waves aye seem bless'd, dancing wild o'er the sea,
When woke by the winds from the hills o' the free.
Our sky oft is dark, and our storms loud and cauld,
But where are the hearts that sic worth can unfauld
As those that unite, and uniting expand,
When they hear but the name o' our ain native land?
Our ain native land! our ain native land! ”

“ Where the shepherd's pipe, and the hunter's horn,
Awake the joys of the rosy morn.
[Pg 271]
There 's a voice in the wind, when it comes from the lake,
That tells how the foamy billows break;
There 's a voice in the wind, when it comes from the wood,
That tells of dreary solitude.
But, oh! when it comes from the mountain fells,
Where the Spirit of Song and Freedom dwells,
Where in youth's warm day I woke that strain
I ne'er in this world can wake again. ”

“ In all its simple agony—breathe that lone word—"Farewell,"
Which hath no hope that clings to it, the closer as it dies,
In song alone 'twould pass the lips that loved the dear disguise.
I go across a bluer wave than now girds round my bark,
As forth the dove went trembling—but to my Father's ark
Shall I return? I may not ask my doubting heart, but yet
To hope and wish in one—how hard the lesson to forget.
* * * * *
But drooping head and feeble limbs—and, oh! ”

“ Need I state further, that if in these days I employed my mind and pen among the mountains as much as possible, my thoughts also often continued to pursue the same practice, even when among others, by the 'farmer's ingle.' I retired to rest when others retired, but if not outworn by matters of extra toil, the ardour of thought, through love of the poet's undying art, would, night after night for many hours, debar the inroads of sleep. ”

“ Sir Isaac Newton, who soared so high and travelled so far on the wing of abstract thought, gathering light from the stars that he might convey it in intelligible shape to the world, seems to have thought, high as the employment was, that it was not good, either for the heart or mind of man, to be always away from that intercourse with humanity and its affairs which is calculated to awaken and sustain the sympathies of life ”

“ Memory, which seems often to constitute the mind itself, more, perhaps, than any other faculty, can set them so brightly before me, as if they were painted on a dark midnight sky with brushes dipped in the essence of living light. ”

“ Those friends whose society I most enjoyed occasionally paid us a visit from Edinburgh; and in leisure hours I haunted the banks of the Esk, which, with wood, and especially with wild-roses, [Pg 37] are very beautiful around the church of Inveresk. This beauty was heightened by contrast—for I have ever hated the scenery of, and the effect produced by, sunny days and dirty streets. Nor do the scenes where mankind congregate to create bustle, 'dirdum and deray,' often fail of making me more or less melancholy. ”

“ The youth o' mony riches may to his fair one ride,
And woo across the table cauld his madam-titled bride;
But I'll gang to the hawthorn gray, where cheek to cheek is laid,
Oh! nae wooers like the laddie that rows me in his plaid;
And he's aye true, &c.
[Pg 65]
To own the truth o' tender love what heart wad no comply,
Since love gives purer happiness than aught aneath the sky?
If love be in the bosom, then the heart is ne'er afraid;
And through life I'll love the laddie that wears the crook and plaid;
For he's aye true, &c.
THE MINSTREL'S BOWER. Air—"Bonnie Mary Hay." ”

“ To this autobiographical sketch it remains to be added, that Mr Riddell is possessed of nearly all the qualities of a great master of the Scottish lyre. He has viewed the national character where it is to be seen in its most unsophisticated aspects, and in circumstances the most favourable to its development. He has lived, too, among scenes the best calculated to foster the poetic temperament. "He has got," wrote Professor Wilson, "a poet's education: he has lived the greater part of his days amidst pastoral scenes, and tended sheep among the green and beautiful solitudes of nature." ”

“ With a more lengthened career, John Bethune would have attained a high reputation, both as an interesting poet and an elegant prose-writer. His genius was versatile and brilliant; of human nature, in all its important aspects, he possessed an intuitive perception, and he was practically familiar with the character and habits of the sons of industry. His tales are touching and simple; his verses lofty and contemplative. In sentiment eminently devotional, his life was a model of genuine piety. His Poems, prefaced by an interesting Memoir, were published by his surviving brother in 1840 ”

“ Cheerful as the splendour of heaven, he carried the feelings, and, it may be said, the simplicity and pursuits of youth, into his maturer years; and if few of the sons of men naturally possessed such generous influence in promoting, so likewise few enjoyed so much pleasure in participating in the expedients of recreation, and the harmless glee of those who meet under the rural roof—the shepherd's bien and happy home. ”